


Hold on to me ('cause I'm a little unsteady

by bimbobucky (exorcisms_are_hot)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, I feel NO shame, Just Roll With It, M/M, Post: aou, So this gets a bit weird at times, Sorry I accidentally wrote it was after Civil War, Steve has a lot of problems okay?, again bear with me, also I know Vision is technically Jarvis but idc cause I love Jarvis and I need Vision for the plot, also Steve talks about Bucky's death bc Bucky actually does die in this, at some point, bear with me, cause of course, i also managed to slip a GAC reference in there, i guess, i'll let you know, most of them are Bucky-related, something like that, that made no sense and some of y'all were probably confused, thats on me, there might be some smut too, there'll be some violence eventually I'll let y'all know when
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8421643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exorcisms_are_hot/pseuds/bimbobucky
Summary: Steve found Bucky after he fell from the train. Steve was there when Bucky took his last breath. So why is he suddenly hearing Bucky's voice calling his name in the middle of the night?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to halloween.  
> Thank you to my lovely beta Melanie. She's 'bro-or-foe' on tumblr.  
> Title taken from 'Unsteady' by X Ambassadors  
> This is going to seem a bit freaky, but I promise everything will make sense in the end. I hope.  
> I have no idea how regularly I'll be able to update, but it should be pretty regularly. Come kick my ass on tumblr if I'm taking too long.

It doesn’t make _sense_. It makes no fucking sense, which is just serving to drive Steve closer to the edge of insanity. There can’t be anyone in his room, he’s living in the Avengers Tower for fucks sake, Jarvis would _know_ if someone had managed to sneak in.

But Steve swears, on his mother’s grave if that’s what it takes, that he just heard someone whisper his name.

He doesn’t go back to sleep, instead opts to spend his time sweeping his room for bugs or a speaker or _something_ that could make that kind of sound, but when he comes up empty, he thinks he grows his first grey hair.

 

* * *

 

 

Bringing it up to Sam and Nat the next day when they’re sparring earns him nothing but a peal of laughter.

“You’re kidding, right?” Sam snarks with a condescending grin that slips right off when Nat kicks him in the stomach and sends him flying to the floor. She jumps out of the ring to put her hands on Steve’s shoulder - he almost laughs when she has to get on her tippy toes - and stare him right in the eye. He tries to convey as much sincerity as possible, but it’s difficult when Sam is crying for his mother behind Nat.

Nat hums at whatever she sees on his face and steps back in the boxing ring to coax Sam off the floor. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

Steve considers pretending not to know what she’s talking about, but it’s a futile game. “No. It’s the third night in a row.”

“Wait, seriously?” Sam wheezes as he collapses onto one of the benches lining the wall of the gym situated on one of the floors of the Tower. “Damn, it’s serious then.”

Steve almost swallows what he’s about to say next, but decides to press on; “it sounded like Bucky.”

Sam curses under his breath, and even Nat lets Steve hear her deep sigh, so he can know just how ridiculous she thinks that sounds.

“You know that’s impossible, Steve. You told me yourself, you found him dead, no pulse. You were at his funeral, you know there’d be a skeleton in that coffin if you go dig it up.”

And Sam’s right, Steve knows he is, but at the same time, he can’t shake the feeling that something is just _off_.

“Have you been sleeping?” Nat asks. She’s not teasing, simply concerned, which somehow makes it even worse. He doesn’t _need_ worry anymore. Sure, when he’d gotten out of the ice a few years back, he’d been pretty bad. How could he not be? But he’s better now, he _is_.

Steve groans, frustrated, and leaves. He should’ve never brought it up.

 

* * *

 

 

 “ _Steve…wake up…talk to me…please_.”

Steve flies up with a gasp, head whipping around. “I’m here, Buck, I’m here.” But gets no response.

That was _Bucky_. Steve is so sure of it. Usually the voice only says his name and then disappears, but that was a full sentence. And it was Bucky. He’d said something similar to Steve when he was very sick one winter, and Bucky had to wake him every few hours to make sure Steve didn’t fall into a coma. One time Steve had been a tad to slow to wake, and Bucky had worked himself into a panic. He’d been yelling, shouting even, but this was nothing but a whisper.

So it wasn’t a dream, Steve concludes. He tries to squash down every emotion making turmoil in his stomach. He still thinks about Bucky almost every day, of course he does. How could he not? He still grieves for him, still misses him so much it’s a physical ache, but he’s managed to let go of most of his guilt, managed to do what Peggy had asked him to, in that destroyed bar after Bucky had fallen from the train. He respects that Bucky had chosen to follow him, Steve hadn’t forced him. It has taken him two years and the best therapists in the world to reach this stage, sure, but damn it if some weird night terror is going to set him back to square one.

It _has_ to be a dream.

Either way, the voice is gone for the night, and Steve doesn’t even attempt to sleep, simply slips out from under the covers and goes for a run to clear his mind.

After Bucky had fallen off the train, Steve had forced Colonel Phillips to send out a search party for Bucky, and after several days of trekking through snow and ice, they’d found his bruised and mangled body lying in the snow. His lips were blue, his eyes empty and his pulse non-existent. To this day, it’s still the worst moment of Steve’s life, only matched with his mother’s death.

So yeah, it couldn’t be Bucky. Steve had seen him dead, had felt his unmoving chest. But he could still swear it was Bucky’s voice. And even if it was a dream or just memories flooding back, why now? Why after so many years? And why several nights in a row?

 

* * *

 

 

When he gets back to the tower, Jarvis informs him that the other Avengers are up on their common floor, having breakfast. Steve heads up to his own floor to shower quickly before taking the elevator further up. Jarvis settles his tumultuous mind by asking him mundane questions about his room, and when the elevator dings open, Steve doesn’t feel as jittery anymore.

Bruce, Nat, Clint, Sam, Tony and Pepper are all sat at the table, passing buns and jam around, when Steve takes a seat.

They all greet him cheerily, and Pepper even leans over to kiss him on the cheek. He freezes mid juice pouring to stare at a suspicious-looking Tony. “What?” he asks slowly.

“You talk to anymore ghosts, Swayze?” Tony chuckles and makes grabby hands at the Nutella. Pepper rolls her eyes when she hands the glass over, and then squeezes Steve’s biceps reassuringly.

“Don’t listen to him Steve, Sam accidentally spilled the beans before you got up here.”

Steve glares at his friend, who simply shrugs. “In my defense, they gave me a Danish, you know I’m a slut for a good Danish.”

“It’d better be a damn good Danish,” Steve grumbles as he starts loading bacon onto his plate.

“It was.”

Suddenly, Sam’s plate goes flying off the table, and smashes into the wall, smearing jam on the tapestry. It looks like a bloodstain, and Steve has to force his eyes away.

“Did everybody just see what I saw?” Clint asks once the silence has stretched on for too long.

“Jarvis, who did that? I bet it was Captain Panties-in-a-twist, can’t even take a joke and a movie reference,” Tony mutters, but even he looks frightened.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” comes Jarvis’ voice. If an AI could sound shocked, Steve guesses that’s what it would sound like, “but it appears that none of the guests were the cause of this.”

“First off, stop calling them guests, Wilson is the only one who doesn’t live here. Second, the hell do you mean none of them did it?”

“The surveillance tapes show that not even Mr. Wilson had his hands anywhere near the plate.”

“Well, what the fuck?”

 

* * *

 

 

He hears Bucky again that night. He’s sobbing Steve’s name, but when Steve calls out to him, all he gets is silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve nearly smashes his head into his bathroom mirror the next morning, cursing at himself under his breath before sprinting back into his room.

“Jarvis?” he calls out, while still berating himself. How did he not think of this?

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Will you find the surveillance tapes from around 3 am last night?”

“Certainly. What am I looking for?”

“I want you to check the audio, see if you can find anything unusual.”

There is a long pause; “I’m very sorry Captain Rogers, but it seems that no such file exists.”

Steve’s heart stutters. “What do you mean?” he asks in a shaky voice.

“At around 2:56 am, the surveillance camera cut out. It turns itself back on at around 3:11 am, but you have left the room at that time, sir.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

Steve goes for another run. It’s his second in the last three hours, but it’s better than dealing with whatever is happening in the Tower.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, it’s Clint who helps him along. He’s forcing Steve to watch some low budget horror movie about a ghost haunting a family, and while Steve couldn’t care less about the movie, and almost falls asleep, something about it still hits a nerve. Because while Bucky - or whoever it is - doesn’t throw things or try to strangle Steve in his sleep, it would make sense why Sam’s plate could go flying with seemingly no one touching it, and why Steve is hearing a voice.

In any case, it’s the best he’s got. He can’t just ignore this when he finally thinks he could get some answers. That’s what makes him Steve Rogers, after all.

 

* * *

 

Steve is on the elevator on the way to his floor, humming inaudibly under his breath. Having a plan is… nice. The world has been forgiving lately, and they’re rarely called on missions, and even when they are, Steve almost never goes with them. Not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just not necessary.

“Waste of manpower. Couldn’t you clean up here, shirtless, covered in oil instead? Channel your inner housewife and be our eye candy,” Tony once said, and then had promptly had his ass delivered to him by Pepper about gender roles and feeding into stereotypes.

It was one of the best days of Steve’s life.

He’s brought out of his musings, when the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stand up. He gets goosebumps doen his eyes, and then his stomach drops, fills with dread.

He’s being watched.

But with a step backwards, he’s up against the elevator’s wall, and there’s no one in here. “Jarvis, do you read anything unusual in here?

“The temperature seems to have dropped five degrees, Captain Rogers. I have no explanation.”

Steve hums in reply as the elevator finally dings open and he steps out onto his own floor. Then he stops.

“Is there an incognito mode on the network here?” Steve asks. He’s going insane, he knows he is, but what else is he supposed to _do_?

“I’m afraid not Captain Rogers,” the AI responds.

Steve grabs his laptop, wallet, leather jacket and sketchbook, before stepping into the elevator once again, and hitting the button for the garage. He jumps onto his motorbike and takes off down the street, driving much further than he normally would, just in case Tony has the nearby Starbucks bugged. It’s their go-to spot, so it wouldn’t be surprising in the least. But if anyone finds out what Steve is about to do, they’ll think he’s insane and have him locked up.

And who’s got time for that?

 

* * *

 

 

The Starbucks is smaller than the one near the Tower, but it’s almost empty, and the Wi-Fi is free. Steve orders a black coffee and with his mind somewhere else, accidentally pours in four packets of sugar. His only reaction is a sigh of annoyance before he plugs in his earphones and clicks on the search bar.

Now, Steve’s been through a lot. He has seen impossible things, experienced impossible things. Hell, he _is_ an impossible thing. But typing “ghosts” into the search bar is by far the weirdest thing he’s ever done, and he once helped Thor out of a bra that Natasha had somehow squeezed him into.

He goes through three cups of coffee that he almost succeeds in sugaring correctly. He does, however, succeed in overwhelming himself with all information. He has his sketchbook on the table, already filled with his unreadable scribbles on both lore and ghost hunting tips.

Then he happens to stumble upon a show called “Ghost Adventures”. At first he’s very put off by the host; a buff guy with a black Mohawk and dramatic tattoos. But he appreciates the man’s enthusiasm and passion, and all the episodes are on YouTube, so he sits through a few. It’s not half bad, and it gives him a good idea of the best equipment he can use.

He feels incredibly ridiculous when he orders an EVP recorder, something called a spirit box, and a REM-pod. He’s not quite sure what any of them do, but he’ll find out. He hopes.

 

* * *

 

 

He manages to sneak his package past the rest of the Avengers without any of them noticing. He’d ended up buying a camera too, so he can ask Jarvis to turn off the recording in his room, just while he conducts his… investigation or whatever he’s doing here.

When it grows dark, he pulls out the equipment and his sketchbook, quietly reading the notes he’d written on the equipment. He sits down on the floor and spreads out the things he bought.

The first thing he grabs is the EVP recorder. It’s tiny and grey, easily fitting in the palm of his hand. Apparently, it’s said to pick up ghost voices by sweeping the electromagnetic spectrum. But he’s saving that for later, to pick up the ghost’s voice when he’s not here. (He’s adamant about calling it ‘the ghost’ in his head now. He’s trying to not get his hopes up about it being Bucky.)

Next is the REM-pod. According to the webpage he read, it creates it’s own magnetic field around it, and then starts beeping if something interrupts the field. It’s going to be difficult to use, as other electronic devices will disturb it, so before asking Jarvis to turn off all video and audio feed to his room, he asks him to also turn off any and all electronics in the bedroom, and then he gets rid of his laptop, phone and other handheld devices and leaves them in the kitchen, before setting up the REM-pod on the bed. He waits to see if anything seems to be interfering with it’s magnetic field, but when it doesn’t immediately light up, he guesses he’s succeeded.

After he’s set up the camera so both he and the REM-pod is in the shot, he grabs the spirit box.

This one is the most interesting, if you ask Steve. It works much like the EVP-recorder, except when you turn it on, it sounds much like a TV with no channels. White noise, the website had said. But what’s interesting about it is that supposedly, the ghosts should be able to speak directly through this, without having to review it like you would with the EVP recorder.

Steve’s cheeks are burning, even though no one is there to see him. He’s losing his mind, he knows, but he can’t seem to help himself. He needs to know if there is actually a ghost here, and if there is, is it Bucky? Could it be? He has so many questions, and the only way to get answers, is this.

He turns on the camera, and gets situated on the floor with the spirit box. He mumbles a short prayer before turning it on. The static noise makes him flinch, but he gets used to it soon enough.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” he calls out. The blush spreads down his cheeks to his chest. He feels a bit like bashing his head into a wall, but he’s committed to this experiment.

He tries talking to thin air for a good thirty minutes. No voice comes through the spirit box and the REM-pod stays silent on the bed. With a disappointed sigh, Steve gives up. He decides to let the camera roll to see if he can catch the voice if it comes back during the night. Just in case, he also sets the EVP to record in the living room, and sets an alarm for an hour later. If he hasn’t heard any voices by then, he’ll turn off the EVP-recorder and the camera and head to bed.

He packs the REM-pod away and lies down. The secrecy and shame he’s carried with him for the past 12 hours finally catches up to him, and he manages to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes up to next morning he resorts himself to check the hour of footage he’s got on the EVP and the camera. The voice never did come, so luckily - or unluckily - it’s only the single hour.

He bought a program for his laptop to review the EVP, back at Starbucks, but the only unusual noise is Steve screaming Bucky’s name in his sleep.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Steve runs his hands down his face with a loud groan. This project, or whatever it is, is messing with his mind. He’s finally at a somewhat stabile mental state, and now this is just obliterating all his hard work. If Sam was here, he’d tell Steve to cut this out right away, before it swallows him whole.

But Sam isn’t here. So Steve plugs the camera into his laptop and presses play on the footage. For the first 37 minutes nothing happens, but then when Steve is just about to go make himself a toast, he sees that the very sketchbook lying next to his laptop is hovering five inches over the nightstand on the footage.

Something flips the sketchbook open, and the pages are turned, lightning quick. They stop suddenly, on one of the multiple drawings there, resting for a beat, and then another, before the book is being closed softly and placed back on the nightstand.

Steve rewinds the video a few minutes, and pauses it. Squints, as he tries to figure out which sketch has made the “presence” hesitate.

It’s Bucky. Of course it’s a sketch of Bucky.

He’d drawn it the other night when the frustration of everything that was happening had gotten too much, and Steve needed to escape for just a while. Since drinking was out of the question, it was either drawing or working out. He didn’t feel like having to change, so he’d fished his sketchbook out of his nightstand and just let his hand do the thinking. He’d ended up drawing Bucky, to no surprise. Hanging out the window of their apartment back in Brooklyn, shirtless and dirty from working at the factory all day, cigarette dangling from his fingers and a grin on his face as he turned towards Steve, mid-joke with the setting sun reflecting in his eyes.

Steve doesn’t know why this camera is able to record, when the security cameras in his room aren’t, but it’s a thought that he promptly forgets about.

Steve unexpectedly feels tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, and he shuts down his laptop with a shuddering breath.

“Is it really you, Buck? It can’t be.” Steve has only made it through the past years without Bucky because he was certain Bucky had at least found peace, even if Steve was struggling to make peace himself. The thought that Bucky might be lingering in some sort of limbo, confused and scared, maybe unaware that he has passed away, makes Steve want to scream. What kind of unfinished business could keep Bucky around? If it’s even Bucky at all.

He knows Jarvis is probably reporting his odd behavior to Tony at this moment but with a start he realizes he doesn’t care. They can all think he’s insane, let them have at it, he just needs to find out if this could really be Bucky, _his_ Bucky.

Or, well, Bucky has never _really_ been Steve’s, has he? Just because Bucky was Steve’s entire life, doesn’t mean that Steve meant the same to Bucky at all. Just because Steve wanted so much more than just friendship from Bucky, doesn’t mean Bucky ever looked at Steve and got the words stuck in his throat.

So maybe Steve has some unfinished business too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but it was very important to me that it ended where it did. You'll see what I mean.  
> Lots of love to my beta for this chapter: barista on tumblr. Shoutout to both her and bro-or-foe for listening to me ramble on about all my "grand" ideas for this fic.

They send Natasha to talk to Steve the next day. The only thing he finds shocking is that she wasn’t already here yesterday.

“Tony said Jarvis was worried about you.”

“Is Jarvis worried, or Tony?”

Natasha lets the corner of her mouth pull up in a sly little grin as she joins him on the couch. He has some horror-flick paused on the TV. He’s also trying desperately to convince himself it’s not a fucked up kind of research. “You know he’ll never tell.”

She casts a glance at the TV, and even though she shows no visible reaction, Steve knows what she’s thinking. “I know, Tash, I know.”

“Do you, Steve? Because I don’t think you do. Jarvis said you’d performed your little experiment again last night.”

“I did.”

“Can’t you see how insane this is?”

Steve does something he’s not proud of. He gets angry. “I damn well realize how crazy it is. I question my sanity every single damn day lately, and it’s like when I was first coming out of the ice; dizzy and nervous, but I can’t brush this off. I’ve got a feeling something is here, and if you know me even a little bit, you know I can’t pretend that’s nothing.”

And _fuck_ , that’s pity in Natasha’s eyes, so he does another thing he can regret later. He kicks her out and tells Jarvis not to let anyone onto his floor for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

He repeats the pattern every night. Spirit box, REM-pod, the whole ordeal. Every night for two weeks. But nothing happens. He gets no EVP’s, nothing unusual on the camera, and he doesn’t hear the voice again.

He hasn’t left his floor for anything other than the odd grocery trip, and those are only for the purpose of not worrying the others too much. He works out in the gym on his floor instead of going to the one on the common floor like he usually does.

He has made Jarvis promise that the AI won’t let the others onto his floor. In theory, he knows that Tony can override his order, but Steve tends to forget that Tony does actually have a heart.

Steve also knows that they won’t let him keep this up much longer. Eventually either Natasha, Sam or Pepper will come barging in and demand that he returns to the land of the living.

He promises himself he’ll go down and have breakfast with the others the next morning, and then goes to bed.

 

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes, it’s not to the immaculate white ceiling of his bedroom. Instead, it’s a high, concrete ceiling, littered with cracks and cobwebs.

He’s lying on what he guesses is also concrete floors. There’s no windows, and the corner Steve is huddled up in is dark. When he sits up, though, he realizes that there’s a single bulb hanging a few feet in front of him. It’s lighting up someone lying on a hospital gurney.

He shakily gets to his feet and stumbles over to the gurney. There’s an IV-stand next to the bed, as well as a heartbeat-monitor that’s beeping along regularly.

Steve takes a deep breath and then dares to take a look at the person hooked up to the machines. Even though his face is covered in wild, dark hair, Steve could recognize him anywhere.

He pushes the hair away carefully, and….

That’s Bucky.

He knew, deep in his bones, that it would be him.

But he still gets nauseous.

And then wakes up, bathed in sweat, a scream stuck in his throat.

 

* * *

 

He follows through on his promise and takes the elevator to the common floor. It’s a tradition that they eat together every morning, and Steve feels a stab of guilt at breaking so many of their customs because he’s stuck in whatever funk this is.

When the elevator dings open, he’s once again reminded how incredibly lucky he is to be stuck in the 21st century with these people. They all cheer and welcome him with open arms, and blatantly ignores the fact that Steve has basically been a hermit for two weeks.

Even Wanda and Vision are sitting at the table, and he wraps Wanda up in a hug immediately. Her and Vision haven’t been around for a couple of months. They come and go a lot. Mostly, they go. They’re trying to work out their powers together, and since none of the others can really understand what’s going on, Wanda and Vision have decided to do it alone.

Vision greets him with a firm handshake and a happy smile.

It seems everyone is here - minus Thor - and just for the hell of it, he also hugs Natasha and Pepper. He swears he sees a tear in Pepper’s eye, but she has always been quite dramatic, so he simply kisses her cheek in apology.

Tony and Clint immediately start wailing about wanting their own hug, whereas Sam simply pulls Steve into one himself. Steve chuckles, but still reciprocates for a beat. He smacks Sam on the back, just to hear that familiar grunt of pain and the curses that follow.

When he takes a seat, Bruce hands over a bowl and a spoon, and Natasha passes him the yoghurt.

How could he go without this for two weeks? No wonder he feels like he’s going insane.

Wanda immediately dives into a story about some goons they’d met in Italy, and Steve feels the nerves in his stomach quell as she gestures with sweeping arms, almost decapitating Clint with the butter knife she has clutched in one hand.

Sam nudges Steve’s side when Wanda is in the middle of describing the fight, looking to Vision to make sure she’s not missing any details.

“I was getting really worried there man, how you doin’?”

Steve freezes, but eventually forces the words out of his mouth; “Not good, Sam,” he replies earnestly. He could try to lie, but Sam would see right through it. If it was Natasha, she’d let him keep his secrets, but Sam has never had that kind of patience when it came to Steve. “I can barely sleep anymore. I have nightmares every night. Bucky is in every single one of them.”

Sam sighs, rubbing at his jaw in a nervous tick. “Why are you so hell-bent on this?”

“Because something don’t feel right,” Steve insists. His voice comes out thick with his Brooklyn accent. It happens sometimes, when he gets worked up. Like his mind thinks it’s that little scrawny kid about to take on some bully in a back-alley somewhere.

“Maybe you just need some closure,” Sam muses.

“Do I even want to know what you mean?”

“Nope. But clear your schedule for tonight. We’re going on a road trip.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve figures out where they’re going after five minutes on the road. It’s already dark out, so traffic is light, and it only takes them about half an hour to reach Brooklyn. Steve only goes here twice a year - and even then it’s only to visit Bucky’s grave - on Bucky’s birthday and on the anniversary of his death.

They’re silent for most of the ride as Steve tries to make sense of his scrambled mind. He always gets like this when he goes to Brooklyn, and it just makes it all the worse that Sam is here. Steve knows he means well and probably has some sort of plan, but Brooklyn is his and Bucky’s place, and bringing someone from his new life as an Avenger to their place seems wrong somehow.

Brooklyn is also a sure-fire way to get his waterworks going, and Steve has to close his eyes when the cemetery draws closer so Sam doesn’t notice the tears clinging to his lower lashes.

It’s of no use. Once Sam parks the car and they step out, the tears are flowing freely down Steve’s cheeks anyways.

Steve drifts closer to the gate on instinct. It’s locked up tight for the evening, but Steve jumps over it easily. He doesn’t even notice that Sam’s not following him as he heads to Bucky’s grave. His mind is carefully blank as his legs lead him there without hesitation.

He falls to his knees on the gravel path and leans forward so he can trail his fingertips down the stone and the small indents marking the lettering:

_James Buchanan Barnes_

_March 10th 1917 - February 2nd 1944_

_Beloved friend and brave solider_

_Died an honorable death fighting for the good of America_

They’d wanted to bury Bucky at the Arlington National Cemetery, but when you’ve got a sobbing national icon insisting he be buried next to his family instead of other fallen soldiers, compromises can be made.

There’s a memorial for Bucky at the Arlington National Cemetery, but Bucky’s body is resting six feet beneath Steve.

He shuffles forward, ignoring the dew staining the knees of his jeans. He rests his arms atop the gravestone and lets his head fall forward. His tears drip down onto the stone and travels all the way down to the soil beneath.

The gravel crunches behind him, and then there’s a comforting hand on his shoulder. As much as he may have cursed Sam’s presence earlier, he now realizes how helpful Sam would’ve been the other times Steve has been here.

“It hurts just as much as when he fell. Just, now I get to forget sometimes. And I feel so damn guilty. How can I go a day where I just don’t think about him? How can I abandon him like that?” His voice trembles and he needs to stop to hiccup once or twice, but he forces the words out and feels a bit of the weight lift off of his shoulders.

“It’s not abandonment Steve, it’s progress. You’ll never forget him, ever, and if you do, I promise I’ll remind you. From what you’ve told me about Barnes, he doesn’t sound like the type to be mad that you’re not heartbroken every damn second. He sounds like the type to be happy you’re smiling.”

And it’s cheesy and over-the-top and it’s exactly what Steve needs. He reaches up to give Sam’s hand on his shoulder a brief squeeze, before getting to his feet. He wipes at his cheeks and lets out a watery chuckle. He’s a mess, but Sam has seen worse.

“So, why are we here?” Steve asks finally. He raises an eyebrow at the two shovels Sam is holding in his arms. “Oh no. No, no, no, Sam!”

“C’mon Steve, I know it’s not nice or legal but you need to see that he’s gone for good, okay?”

“But we can’t disturb him! I-I can’t…” Steve trails off because as much as he really doesn’t want to do this, maybe Sam is right. Maybe the reason this healing wound is suddenly wide open again is because he has gotten his hopes up. Seeing Bucky’s remains might actually close everything off for good. Maybe the “ghost” was originally some echo from a nightmare that Steve thought was real, simply because he’s missing Bucky so much, and now his mind is fooling him into thinking all this ghost stuff is a plausible explanation.

Sam must see him make up his mind, because he silently hands him a shovel. Steve only hesitates for a brief moment before shoveling the first pile of dirt.

He and Sam work together in silence. Sam tires quickly, sweat beading on his forehead, and Steve tells him he’s got it. His pulse hasn’t even picked up, and with his mind on missions-mode, he reaches the coffin easily.

By now he’s panting, but not from exhaustion. His insides feel like they’re twisting together, and he reaches a hand up to Sam. Sam helps him out of the hole without question, and Steve runs to some nearby shrubbery where he empties his stomach.

He heaves for a few minutes before coming back up for air. He wipes his mouth on the corner of his flannel, before walking back to the grave.

He doesn’t meet Sam’s worried gaze as he jumps back down. He manages to crack it open, but before he can open it, a sudden wave of dizziness hits him. He has to close his eyes and breathe through another bout of nausea before he finally pulls the lid back.

His heart stops for a moment in his chest before jumpstarting and galloping on.

The coffin is empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bimbobucky on tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! It's a long one! 
> 
> So Steve has something that is a lot like a panic attack in this chapter. It's right here in the beginning, so skip down to the next chapter seperator and you'll be just fine. It's short and not very detailed, but if you're even the slightest bit worried you'll be triggered, then skip it. It's not very important to the plot, so don't worry about that either. 
> 
> This isn't beta'd so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the sweet comments and kudos, I appreciate them so much!

“Get me up,” Steve whispers to Sam. Sam doesn’t react, clearly as shocked as Steve. “Get me up!” Steve shouts then, scrambling against the dirt walls of the grave. His food catches on the side of the coffin, and he stumbles down into the space where Bucky’s remains are supposed to be, but they _aren’t_.

He’s sobbing loudly as Sam finally regains his bearings and urges Steve to stand. Steve’s body is locked up tight, his lungs struggling to draw in enough air. He can’t seem to focus on anything, not what he’s seeing or what Sam’s yelling. He thinks his heart is about to give up on him even though it’s most likely physically impossible, when a whisper makes it through the haze in his mind.

“ _Get up Stevie, you gotta come find me, before they wake me up.”_

The voice continues to murmur encouragements in his ear, half of which don’t make any sense, but he’ll have to think about that later. For now, he’s focused on getting his body to cooperate and his mind to slow down, so he can finally stand on shaky legs and let Sam help him up from the grave.  

He slumps to his knees on the grass and notices with a hint of despair that the voice is gone again. _Bucky’s_ voice. He’s sure of it now. Something has happened to Bucky, and until he finds out what it is, neither he nor Bucky will find any rest. Maybe Bucky _is_ dead, and whatever has happened to his body has upset him so much that he can’t find rest.

Or maybe something entirely else has happened and Bucky is still out there.

Steve knows he shouldn’t hope for that, because it’s so improbable it’s laughable, but Bucky’s missing remains plus the weird dream from last night has his mind reeling.

“Shit dude, I’m sorry,” Sam babbles mindlessly as he pats at Steve. His intent is probably to check for injuries, but instead he’s just groping Steve.

And yeah, the stress and the madness catches up to Steve, so he starts laughing. He starts laughing and he can’t stop, and he knows he looks insane, but bless everything that is Sam Wilson, because he cracks up too.

So there they are. Two morons laughing while looming over an empty coffin of Steve’s best friend and love of his life.

Tony is going to get such a kick out of this.

 

* * *

 

 

Turns out, Tony is just worried.

“Why the hell are you covered in dirt? Jarvis said a security cam outside a cemetery in Brooklyn picked up footage of you two walking around with shovels. Who did you kill without telling us?”

Steve just wants to _sleep_ , and then freak out about everything tomorrow. Tony is forcing him to look this in the eye right now, and he just _can’t_. “Can we talk about this tomorrow, Tony? I’m beat.”

Tony seems ready to protest, but Steve catches Sam shaking his head out of the corner of his eye, and Tony visibly deflates. “Fine. But you’re making your awesome cinnamon pancakes for breakfast, Rogers.”

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve comes to, looking at the same ceiling as the night before. Instead of hesitating, he springs up and runs to Bucky’s side. The heartbeat monitor is beeping just as steadily as before.

Steve reaches out and shakes Bucky’s shoulder. When nothing happens, Steve starts calling his name. He runs his hands through Bucky’s - now very long - hair, and traces his hand down the side of Bucky’s neck. He keeps shaking him, but Bucky doesn’t show any signs of waking up.

“Please Buck, I need your help to find you. Is this where you are? Or is this just some sick dream?”

Just as the heartbeat monitor beeps more urgently, signaling that Bucky is about to open his eyes, Steve wakes up.

 

* * *

 

 

He eats breakfast with the others the next morning, but even _he_ knows he’s subdued and withdrawn. He has a detailed sketch of the room in his dream lying on his nightstand, hastily drawn lines making up everything but Bucky, who’s drawn just as carefully and meticulously as Steve usually draws him. The new addition is his long hair and his sunken cheeks, and any other differences Steve can remember. Admittedly, he lacks an alarming amount of detail for someone who’s used to analyzing every nook and cranny of a room, but even Steve doesn’t have that kind of power over his subconscious.

His thoughts drift further, back to the night at the cemetery. Bucky is _gone_. He’s. Not. There. And it had been Bucky talking to him, talking him out of whatever hell Steve had almost been swallowed by. But he’d talked about “waking up” and “don’t let them get me” and he’s just got so many questions, even more than earlier, and seemingly no way of getting any answers. _Again_.

“Where did you go, Steve?”

Steve shakes his head like a wet dog before attempting a smile at Natasha. “Sorry,” he offers lamely.

“You should eat something,” Bruce insists softly, nudging the basket of bread in Steve’s direction.

“I’m not feeling too hungry,” Steve said earnestly. Wanda is just opening her mouth to - no doubt - lecture him on how lucky he is to have food available, when a piece of bread slowly starts moving. At first, it simply wriggles a bit in the basket, but then it floats up and hovers over Steve’s plate.

“Okay who’s doing this?” Steve asks, but he already knows. He’s not as shocked as he should be, and that might be worrisome, but he’s too busy cataloging the faces of the rest of his team. They’re seeing this too. “Buck?”

Sam’s eyebrows knit together in worry, and he looks like he’s about to speak, when they all hear someone whisper: _“Yes.”_

Pepper gasps and drops the spoon in her hand. The loud noise must startle Bucky, because the slice of bread abruptly drops onto Steve’s plate. Steve knows Bucky is gone now, and he probably won’t return until Steve is alone.

Maybe he should try the spirit box later, now that Bucky has seemingly returned from his “pause” or whatever spirits need occasionally.

“Do you believe me now,” Steve says to no one in particular. He doesn’t phrase it as a question, and doesn’t wait for a response either, simply gets to his feet and heads to the elevator.

Back on his own floor, he takes a shower. Not because he needs it, but because the ritual of soaping up and washing down, then drying himself, has always been calming, especially in the 21st century when there’s a constant stream of steaming hot water.

He’s drying his hair with a pink fluffy towel that Clint bought him as a joke, expecting Steve to get flustered and throw it out. Joke’s on him, because if there’s one thing Steve will never understand about the 21st century, it’s how colors are apparently a gender thing now. And the towel is really fucking soft, and it leaves his hair a fluffy mess on his head that never fails to make him snort.

It’s the little things in life, his therapist had told him. Steve has gotten quite good at little things.

He’s just started to relax and let the tension seep out of his shoulders, when there’s a loud thud in his bedroom. With nothing but a towel slung around his waist, Steve legs it out of the bathroom. His sketchbook is lying on the floor, still open on the drawing of his dream.

Still naked, Steve rummages through his drawers until he finally manages to get a hold of the spirit box. He turns it on, and just like always, he cringes at the white noise. It grates on his ears, but he powers through. He covers the top of the spirit box so the noise is dulled and calls out for Bucky.

“Bucky! You here?”

He lifts his hand away again and lets the static fill the room. He waits for a beat, and two, and three, until;

“Y- _es_.” It’s faint, croaky and almost unintelligible, but Steve has better hearing than most, so he picks out the word easily enough.

Tears fill Steve’s eyes immediately but he pays them no mind. “The drawing I’ve made, is that where they’re keeping you?”

Another yes, this time even more garbled, and somehow, Steve can tell Bucky is fading away.

“Thank you Bucky. I miss you.”

He thinks he hears a “ _-iss you too_ ” but that might just be wish thinking.

 

* * *

 

 

“And you’re sure?” Natasha asks for just about the fifteenth time.

“You saw what happened at breakfast, how do you still not believe me?”

They’re all standing around Steve’s dining room table, where the spirit box is resting innocently. Tony has a hologram showing the footage from Steve’s room. He still doesn’t understand why the camera only cut out the first week of Bucky’s visits, but there are so many other, stranger things that this simply seems like a technicality.

The only problem is, none of the others can hear Bucky’s responses. Steve can still hear them on the tape, so at least he knows he wasn’t going insane. Or, well, everything is relative, he supposes.

 “I’ll admit that the flying toast was strange, but right here, you’re just talking to yourself. Sorry to break it to you Sun Lolly, but that’s not proof,” Tony tells him. His voice is flat, but Steve can hear the worry seeping through the tiny cracks of Tony’s carefully constructed calm.

“What the fuck is a Sun Lolly?” Clint asks.

“It’s a Danish ice treat. Honestly, you peasants need to get out more.”

And yeah, Steve gives up a bit then. “Forget I ever said anything. You can go,” he tells them, his sentences clipped and his voice tight.

“Steve,” Natasha starts empathetically, but he stops her with a single, raised finger.

“Please, just go.” He’s so _tired_ , but at the same time too keyed up to focus on anything else. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go without any answers.

Eventually, they all drift away, towards the elevators. Wanda hangs back. She stares at him for a silent, heavy minute before enveloping him in a hug. He melts into it, tucks her under his chin with a deep sigh.

“It’s really bothering you,” she mumbles into his chest, her accent curling around the letters in a familiar way that heats him up from the inside. He’s always had a soft spot for her, the girl who just wanted to be good.

“Yeah, it is,” he admits into the crown of her hair.

Wanda draws back with a tiny smile. “He’s your Pietro.”

Wanda mentions her deceased twin brother so rarely that Steve startles a bit. He doesn’t let it show on his face, but he thinks Wanda can tell anyways. “Kind of. I really hope you were never hopelessly in love with Pietro.”

He’s so distracted by the intense wave of relief washing over him by finally saying the words out loud, that he almost misses how Wanda’s eyes widen comically.

She fish mouths for a moment, which is so unlike her that Steve suddenly realizes how big of an admission it is, especially since none of them know he’s bisexual. Huh. Maybe after two years, that’s something he should’ve shared. It just never seemed important. Natasha had stopped trying to set him up a long time ago, after the disaster with the girl who tried to cut off a lock of his hair.

“You were in love with him?” she squeaks.

“I am, yes,” Steve corrects gently. Maybe it should’ve disappeared, or at least lessened in the past years, but while Steve’s love for Bucky might have been put on the backburner through the drama of the 21st century, it’s still there, strong as ever, making his heart pound and his vision swim.

“Oh,” Wanda breathes. She sits down heavily on the couch, a contemplative look on her face. Then, she snaps her fingers and looks up at Steve with bright eyes. “I have a plan.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve thinks this is a testament to just how much trust he has in his teammates.

He’s lying on a metal slab in Tony’s lab, dots of electrodes attached to his chest and his temples. Tony and Bruce are chattering quietly and poking at a few screens, and Wanda is meditating in the corner.

“Uh, Wands?” Wanda hums in response, but doesn’t open her eyes to look at Steve. “Why can’t we do this in private again?”

Wanda rolls her eyes and unfolds her legs so she can stand up and walk to Steve’s side. She flicks at the electrode stuck to his pec with a smile. “This is some serious mind-bending we’re about to do. I need to be sure you’ll make it through to the other side.”

“I don’t know if anybody’s told you, but I’m pretty close to indestructible.”

“Your body is, yes. Your mind? Not so much.”

Steve mulls that over. “Should I be offended by that?”

“Yes,” Tony pipes up across the room.

Wanda rolls her eyes. “Don’t start, Stark, you have the weakest mind.”

Steve can’t help but laugh at the put-off look on Tony’s face. “What are we waiting for, then?”

“Someone’s cocky,” Wanda teases, but Steve can hear a hint of weariness creep into her voice. She’s nervous.

“Gotta be confident enough for both of us it seems,” Steve fires back.

Wanda exhales something that’s meant to sound like a laugh. “Let’s go over the plan one more time.” Steve sighs but otherwise doesn’t try to stop Wanda. “We’re going to dive deep into your subconscious, see if we can reach this dream you’ve been having. Once there, I’ll give you enough strength to hopefully keep you unconscious long enough for you to get some answers. It might not work, you need to be prepared for that. I think you can only have this dream when Barnes’ spirit is with us - “ and that’s another great thing about Wanda; she believes him instantly and unconditionally, no matter how insane it all sounds - “so if it’s not, I’m just going to be messing with your head. Is that okay?” Steve nods sagely. “Good. If we’re lucky it works on the first try. If we’re even luckier, you can stay long enough for Barnes to wake up and tell you everything he knows. If he’s doesn’t just look around, and commit as much of the environment to memory as possible. We have a piece of paper and a pencil here, for when you wake up. No talking, just drawing. Understood?”

Steve just nods again. He’s really excited and yet incredibly nervous. He hopes - oh he _hopes_ \- that Bucky will wake up so they can talk. He has no guarantees that it’s the real Bucky. He has no guarantee that it’s in fact something other than a dream. Sam’s stubbornly sticking to his theory that Steve is making all of this up because he hasn’t allowed himself to deal with the trauma of losing Bucky.

Steve thinks Sam is full of shit.

Steve _also_ thinks that his own theory about ghosts isn’t that weird, considering some of the things they’ve been up against. Once, they fought against a sentient octopus. It was about the size of the Statue of Liberty and looked like something out of a video game.

So really, why are ghosts so unbelievable?

“You with us Banana split?”

To Steve’s surprise, Tony’s continuously more ridiculous ice-themed nicknames settles his stomach slightly. Wanda grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly between her own. She huffs a laugh at how dwarfed her own hands look compared to Steve’s giant bear paw.

“Yeah,” Steve replies a beat too late, when he realizes they’re actually expecting an answer.

Wanda sits on the stool next to Steve’s head and lets her right hand drift from Steve’s palm to his temple. “Close your eyes now, Steve. We’re going in.”

 

* * *

 

 

First step done. Steve wakes up to the concrete ceiling.

He hurries upright and has to force himself to stop and look around. He tries to look for papers on the desks, but they’re all empty, save for some computers that won’t turn on. There aren’t any windows either, and he feels frustration well up in his throat. The only other thing in here - besides the lifeless lump that is his best friend - is a single, metal door.

Before he exits, though, he wants to try to wake Bucky up.

Bucky hasn’t even stirred while Steve has been causing a ruckus. Steve drags one of the chairs from the desks over to Bucky, and sits down next to him. The first few times he had this dream, he hadn’t even noticed that Bucky was covered in a white sheet. Now, he hesitates to draw it back. Whomever it is that have kept Bucky in this limbo between dead and alive, obviously don’t care too much about Bucky’s comfort.

But he needs to know.

So he draws back the sheet.

He sees a glint of metal.

And then everything goes dark.

 

* * *

 

 

He flies off the slab in Tony’s lab with a loud gasp. He can still feel the phantom pain of Bucky’s punch, even though he knows it wasn’t real.

“Draw,” Wanda orders. Steve does as he’s told, even though he knows that what he saw wasn’t nearly enough to give them a clue. Wanda is about ready to vibrate out of her skin, long nails tapping at the metal of the stool. She keeps glancing at Steve, and he can practically hear her thoughts. _Hurry up, come on, tell me what you saw._

Steve hands the drawing to Bruce, who’s hovering near his head with a pinched expression on his face. They’re obviously worried about him, but he’s too busy trying not to unravel at the seams to ease their minds. “He punched me,” are the first words he can think to say. He winces and mentally berates himself. He wants the others to trust Bucky, to understand why Steve is willing to risk everything for him. “I mean, I think I scared him. Or him in the dream. I don’t even know anymore,” he admits in a whisper. His voice is dangerously close to breaking, and _damn_ , how does he even have any tears left?

“He was there. It was him,” Wanda assures him. He’s just about to ask how she _knows_ , but manages to swallow the words back down. He’s not sure he wants to know.

Tony and Bruce are bent over Steve’s drawing, heads pushed together as they mumble under their breaths. “When can we do it again?” Steve asks Wanda, not tearing his eyes away from the men in the room. He hopes they’re getting something, _anything_ , from the drawing.

“Not today,” Wanda says gently. His head snaps to her with an audible crack, and he hears Tony grunt in sympathy.

“Why not?” he demands as he stands. He manages to tower over her for a second or two before he has to sit back down. God he’s _exhausted_. And not the kind where you feel a bit ditzy, like you can take on the world. He feels weary all the way down to his bones, and even blinking suddenly seems to become an impossible chore.

Wanda winds her hand into his hair and scratches at his scalp soothingly. He closes his eyes and gently pushes into it. “That’s why. You normally only let me do this when you’ve got so much morphine in you it could kill an elephant.”

He hums in agreement. At least he thinks he does.

He briefly remembers Clint suddenly appearing and helping Tony get him into the elevator and into a bed.

For the first time since he heard Bucky’s voice, he sleeps through the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve wakes up with a pounding headache and a heavy heart. He probably has a hundred things he need to sign, look at, have an opinion on or some other superhero-stuff, but instead he gets up to do his business in the bathroom, grabs a müsli bar and goes back to bed.

This is about the closest thing he can come to being sick, he imagines. He doesn’t like to wallow in self-pity normally, but today he embraces feeling like crap. He’s in a haze of half-awake and half-asleep all day, only getting up to pee and text Wanda that he’s still alive.

She texts him back saying they should try again tomorrow. He decides that the ‘read’ that will show up on Wanda’s phone is response enough.

At some point, he spots the spirit box lying on the floor. “What are you doing to me, Buck?” His voice is rough with disuse, so he decides not to talk more for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up with a quilt thrown over him. He doesn’t even own a quilt, so he’s reasonably confused.

 

* * *

 

 

He knows he looks like shit when the elevator door opens up to Tony’s lab.

“Sheesh Cap, rough night?” Tony ribs, but the usual tinge of sarcasm is replaced by worry.

Steve flips him the bird. Tony seems even more worried. “Don’t call me Cap when we’re not on mission.”

“Did you have the dream again,” Wanda pipes up in the corner. She doesn’t need an answer, so Steve doesn’t give her one. Instead, he shucks out of his shirt and heaves himself onto the metal slab. He lets Bruce flitter around him and put on the electrodes while he looks out the windows. New York is beautiful, with low hanging, grey clouds lying heavily over the city. If it’s still this cloudy when he’s done here, he might go to the roof of the Tower. It should be covered in clouds right now.

He barely notices Bruce gently nudging at his bare shoulders and guide him so he’s lying down.

He lets his eyes flutter shut and breathes out slowly. Yesterday he felt sick, today he feels off-kilter, like something is staring him right in the face, daring him to uncover some secret, and yet he can’t put the pieces together. He’s sure it’s related to the mess that has been his life for the past few weeks, and if he got his shit together he could maybe even figure it out.

But he’s still _so_ tired.  

He jumps when Wanda hums a little tune under her breath. He hadn’t even seen her take her place on the stool. He’s slipping. He knows he is. He’s disappearing into his own head, getting swallowed up, just like Sam told him he shouldn’t. And Steve knows. God does he know. But he can’t fucking stop.

This is the closest Steve Rogers has ever been to giving up, if you ignore the whole plane-crash thing, of course. 

He lets his head tip towards Wanda. His eyes are half-lidded, and he’s pretty sure the bags under them are bigger than his fist.

Wanda lets her hand drift into his hair again. He exhales shakily and ignores the stray tears that are rolling down his cheeks. Wanda seems to be struggling to pull herself together so she won’t start crying, too. Normally, this is where Steve fixes the problem. But what is he supposed to do when he himself is the problem?

“I’m not sure about this, Steve,” Wanda admits in a whisper.

“Doing nothing would be worse,” Steve counters. He’s not sure if it’s the truth anymore.

Wanda holds his gaze for a few moments while Steve tries desperately to bring her into focus. “Okay,” she relents finally.

Steve closes his eyes with a relieved groan, and before Wanda can react, he’s unconscious.

 

* * *

 

 

He goes straight for the door this time. He picks up one of the office chairs and throws it with full force against the door. He bashes at it with his fists, he throws the desks at it, he kicks it. Not even a dent. But his split knuckles are a sick sort of relief. The throbbing of his foot helps his heart settle. It’s therapeutic.

Maybe Ultron was right. Maybe Steve can’t live without war. Without destruction. Without pain.

“It doesn’t open. I’ve tried.”

Steve shuts down. His body might turn around to face Bucky, who’s leaning heavily on the IV-stand to keep upright, but his mind is blank.

Bucky’s smile may be small, but it’s the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen. “Hey Steve. Sorry I punched you. You scared the hell out of me.”

“Buck,” Steve whimpers.

“Yeah. It’s me. Or, well, what’s left of me, I suppose. This isn’t real, is it.” Bucky doesn’t give Steve a chance to respond before he’s clambering closer. Steve’s eyes are drawn to his left arm, made solely of metal. It’s quite elegant, and Steve’s struggling to see the fist that had punched the lights out of him two days ago. He’ll ask Bucky about it later. “I didn’t think we’d ever get here. I’ve been trying to reach you for so long. I’d given up, mostly. Accepted that I’d get to look after you, but that I didn’t get to be with you.” His chuckle is void of humor. “I should’ve known you’d come for me. You always do.”

Steve rushes forward when Bucky starts to topple over. Steve throws Bucky’s flesh arm over his shoulders and leads him to one of the office chairs that Steve didn’t smash. He can’t stand to see Bucky back on that… operating table, he guesses it is. So this will have to do.

“I need your help, Buck. I don’t know how to find you.”

“I’m not sure how much I can help. I can tell you what I remember but it’s not a lot, Stevie. It’s really not.”

Steve smiles. It’s genuine for the first time in who knows how long, and it helps something settle in him. “Doesn’t matter. Tell me.”

“I will. But could you-“ Bucky hesitates and then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“You want a hug?” Steve guesses.

Bucky’s laugh is real this time. “You always did know me better than I did.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate to drop to his knees so he and Bucky are more even in height, and then winds his arms around Bucky’s waist and burrows into Bucky’s chest. He smells of chemicals and _Bucky_. Bucky lets his head fall and rest on Steve’s. They cling to each other for longer than they probably should, but it’s not like anyone is here to judge.

When Steve finally draws back, some of the lines on Bucky’s forehead are gone, and there’s a tiny light of hope in his eyes. He looks worse for wear, and yet he’s the most gorgeous thing in the world. Steve sits back on his haunches, still crouched on the floor, to show Bucky he’s listening.

“Right,” Bucky exhales. He keeps an arm looped loosely around Steve’s shoulder. Whether it’s to keep his balance or make sure Steve stays, Steve isn’t sure. “I know I died. The train.” Steve powers through the painful squeeze of his heart. “I don’t know how they found me. Or why me. I have an idea, but ‘s not for right now.” Steve reaches up and gives Bucky’s wrist a reassuring squeeze. He’s _here_. Or well, almost here. It’s better than what Steve’s had of him for the past years. “They used a stone. Sometimes, when I’m not with you, and I’m here, I can hear what they’re saying, see what they’re doing. The stone is this glowing orange… thing, and small, real small. They have it in some kind of scepter, I’m not sure. They say it’s what brought me back. But I’m in a coma. I never woke up fully, and they’re doing everything they can to wake me up. I don’t know why, but.” Bucky swallows heavily. “I’ve been visiting you ever since they brought me back.”

“Who are ‘they’ Buck?”

Bucky finally looks Steve in the eye.

“Hydra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on tumblr: bimbobucky


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a tad short and unbeta'd. What can I say? It's been a long week.  
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, you guys are the best.

Bucky has barely closed his mouth before Steve is ripped out of the dream.

“What happened?” Steve demands.

“I didn’t do anything,” Wanda tells him as she hands over pen and pad. Steve doesn’t take them.

“Hydra has Bucky,” he tells the room at large before hopping off the crumbled sheet beneath him. He rips off the electrodes - but makes sure he doesn’t break anything - and grabs his shirt. He doesn’t bother with putting it on as he makes a beeline for the elevator.

He can’t make sense of what he’s feeling, but it’s better than feeling numb, so he’ll take it.

He’s not even tired this time, or, at least he doesn’t think he is. He honestly can’t even tell what’s going on anymore.

Wanda, Tony and Bruce are calling out for him, but it barely registers. He throws them a grin over his shoulder when he steps into the elevator. He can’t tell himself if it’s genuine or not, but hopefully it appeases them so they won’t come running after him. He needs to clear his head so he can sift through everything he’s found out, so he goes to his floor and changes into some workout clothes.

Down on the gym-floor, Sam is running on the treadmill and Clint is lifting weights. Steve throws them a quick greeting before proceeding to beat the ever-loving shit out of a sandbag strung up under the ceiling. After his third sandbag, Clint leaves with a grumble of: “this team has more drama than a soap opera,” that Steve pretends he doesn’t hear.

Sam is ready with a fifth sandbag and a roll of gauze. Steve barely notices the sting of his split knuckles, simply revels in how it reminds him of Bucky now. Just about anything does, and it’s familiar, the way Bucky is stuck in his mind. It’s welcome, a relic from the 1940’s that he didn’t realize he’d missed.

When the fifth bag splits, Sam helps him clean up and wrap his fists. Steve feels a bit more settled, more like he won’t vibrate out of his own skin any second. Sam doesn’t speak until there’s stark white wrapped around Steve’s hands.

“So I take it Wanda’s experiment went to shit again?”

Steve shouldn’t be surprised that Sam knows. Clint is right about the inhabitants of the Tower being like sitcom characters. Gossip spreads fast.

Sam seems surprised and a bit frightened when Steve hits him with a big smile. “Actually, no.”

Sam squints his eyes and really looks at Steve. “Okay, what the hell is going on? You’re looking a bit like Crazy eyes from Orange is the new black.”

Steve levels him with a flat look, and is rewarded with a smug smile. “I talked to Bucky.” He lets the words hang for a while before continuing. Sam doesn’t seem to have control over his face. He goes through just about every emotion that’s swirling together in Steve’s stomach; surprise, shock, anger, worry and in the end, reluctant acceptance. He carefully schools his expression into his ‘therapist face’ as Steve has fondly dubbed it in his head.

“Okay,” he says warily, turning forward even as he looks at Steve out of his peripheral. He’s clearly seizing Steve up, trying to determine whether he’s on the brink of unconsciousness or high or something. “What did he say?”

“That he missed me. That he believed in me.” Sam throws him an exasperated look, but the curl of his lips screams fondness.

“Alright prince Charming, what did he say about his “situation?”” Steve huffs a laugh at Sam’s air quotes and rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. Right. The actual point of the whole experiment.

Steve knows the tips of his ears are flushed with a blush when he answers Sam; “That Hydra used some orange stone on him to try and bring him back to life, but they only managed to do it halfway. He’s in a coma somewhere, though he doesn’t know where or why they haven’t just given up on him yet.”

Sam hums thoughtfully. “So you weren’t crazy,” he concludes. “Not about this at least.”

Steve punches him in the arm in retaliation and it’s the best he’s felt in weeks.

 

* * *

 

 

They have a meeting later that evening, after Steve has had the chance to take a nap. He still hasn’t really understood that he might get Bucky back, that he’s talked to Bucky, that Bucky’s not _dead_.

The good thing about S.H.I.E.L.D. crumbling is that they only answer to each other, now. Debriefs are an unceremonious affair, slung casually in comfortable chairs around an expensive looking table filled to the brim with snacks and fast-food, in one of the Tower’s official meeting rooms. It’s been converted into their space, a sign on the door proudly stating: “Avengers _assemble_ -y room” courtesy of Clint’s awful humor and Tony’s constant need to show he’s still a bit in charge.  

Each day he spends with Tony, Steve admires Pepper Potts just a little bit more.

“So tall, dark and part metal is in some Hydra base somewhere?” It rubs Steve the wrong way, that Tony seems more curious about the metal arm than worried about Bucky’s predicament. Tony does at least look a bit put off by the fact that Hydra are trying to bring back the dead, and are somewhat succeeding.

“Yes.”

“And here we thought we’d taken down all their bases,” Natasha groans under her breath. She’s hunkered down in her chair in an oversized hoodie that either belongs to Clint or Steve himself. It’s not an unusual sight. Natasha likes to drop by just to steal some clothes and food. Steve would love to say he minds, but Natasha is just too adorable with her chin tucked against her chest, a pout on her face and messy hair. When Natasha catches him staring, she rolls her eyes, but her eyes are twinkling.

Steve’s mind drifts, imagining Bucky sitting in one of the empty chairs, long hair framing his face and flushed cheeks. Bucky always had a sweet tooth, and the food on the table is the kind they could never splurge on back in Brooklyn. Steve would love to see Bucky gorge as much of it down as possible, if only to fill out his cheeks a bit more. When - _if_ \- he gets Bucky back, maybe he can be a part of the team. It would be nice to go into the field, knowing Bucky has his back. It would be amazing, actually.

“Steve!” Wanda snaps, smacking him upside the head. He nearly falls out of his chair, and he’s pretty sure he sees Wanda’s hands flash red as he rights himself. He silently thanks her for not letting him make a fool of himself in front of the team he’s supposed to be in charge of.

“Uh, yes?”

“Did Barnes fuck your brains out in that dream?” Clint asks suspiciously. Every head turns to stare at him. Clint simply shrugs. “I can’t believe the rest of you haven’t noticed. Steve’s an open bo--“

“Anyways!” Natasha interrupts. “What do we do from here?”

“Our best lead is the stone,” Steve tells her. He refuses to even glance at Clint, but the other man has clearly lost interest. He’s is already unwrapping his fourth burger.

For the first time since they sat down, Vision speaks up; “did he say anything else about the stone?”

“Not a lot. They have it in some sort of scepter. It glows orange?” Steve says unsure. They believe him about the whole ordeal right now, sure, but he’s worried that even one more crazy thing will have them turning their backs on him once again.

“It sounds like one of the infinity stones,” Vision says and then promptly vaporizes.

“Uh,” Bruce says, waving a hand in the space Vision just occupied. “He’s gone”

Wanda sighs. “He does that sometimes. He’ll be back soon enough. We should wait for him.”

Tony claps his hands together and grins at them all. “So, I think this calls for some quality time.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Tony, I’ve never used this word before because I think it’s very rude, but I’m using it now. You’re a bitch.”

“Don’t be so prickly, Rogers, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” Tony fires back as he tries to sling an arm around Steve’s shoulders. With a sigh, Steve bends in his knees slightly so Tony can reach, without really thinking about it.

“Are you sure you want to play bowling against a super soldier with enhanced strength and incredible hand-eye coordination?” Sam asks.

Tony waves him away. He has rented the entire place for an hour, just to get them out of the Tower. Steve won’t admit it, but he’s actually a bit relieved to have something to focus on. Distracting Tony so he loses spectacularly at bowling seems like a good solution.

Clint is busy putting all their names on the scoreboard, and Steve can hear him giggling to himself. He’s plotting something. It probably won’t be pretty.

“First up is SafetyBlanket,” Clint declares. Sam groans loudly next to Steve and walks closer to Clint so he can swat at his arm.

“It’s not a safety blanket, it’s an oversized handkerchief!” Sam insists, and then shoves three fingers into the bowling ball and throws it down the lane. After he makes a strike, he flips Clint off before settling into one of the horrid, blue leather couches lining the lane.

“Touchy,” Clint grumbles, “alright, TinManCan.”

“He really is 12 years old,” Tony announces to no one in particular.

It continues like this for well over an hour. Tony quite literally throws his credit card at the owner when he comes down to throw them out, and they get another hour. Tony buys enough beer to get all the non-serummed people drunk, which means it’s Steve who has to call Pepper and ask her to send a car to pick them up.

Steve can tell his mood has affected everyone in the past weeks. He hadn’t even realized how subdued everyone had been until they weren’t anymore. They’d been worried about him, enough so that they couldn’t even bring themselves to have fun while Steve was trying desperately to fit the pieces of his brain together again, and make some sense of everything. He doesn’t even bitch when Natasha and Clint promptly fall asleep and his shoulders the second they’re inside the car and headed for the Tower. On the ten-minute car ride home, all of them manage to fall asleep. This is what Steve imagines it’s like to work in a kindergarten.

Once he has made sure everyone has made it to his or her respective floors safely, he takes the elevator to his own apartment. He grabs his sketchbook, a pencil and the spirit box. He has a window ledge that sticks out just enough for him to curl up there so he can look down on the streets of New York while he sketches. He turns the spirit box on and puts it on the table. He isn’t expecting Bucky to be there, not now that he’s told Steve what he needed to, but just the thought that Bucky can speak if he wants to is enough to give Steve peace so he can sit down and lose himself in his sketching. The white noise should be annoying, but instead it fills up every nook and cranny in his head, so his thoughts don’t run wild.

He flips to an empty page and starts drawing Bucky. The Bucky who’d sat slumped over in that office chair, metal arm and long, dark hair standing in stark contrast to the white of the scrubs wrapped around his body. The scruff on his face and the worry-lines crinkling his forehead. Then he draws the both of them, how he imagines they’d looked, wound tight around each other, like they’d never get to do it again.

But they will. Steve will make sure of it.

At one point, he swears he can hear Bucky whispering “pretty” through the spirit box, but it might just be his imagination. It doesn’t matter much, and he only reacts with a little smile, meant only for himself and perhaps Bucky.

He’s calm. He’s not sure if it’s the calm before the storm, but at least he’s _calm_. They’re back on track. They have a mission, a lead, a goal. And the goal is Bucky. Fucking Bucky Barnes who refuses to die. Somehow, Bucky has managed to make it to the 21st century with Steve, and damn it he’s not going to let him die again. He’s done letting Bucky down.

“We’re just two stubborn assholes, aren’t we Buck? Only you and I are bullheaded enough to follow each other into the future.”

He likes to think the breeze that makes his hair rustle is Bucky. Either way, it’s a comforting thought. He brings his pencil back to the paper while humming under his breath.

 

* * *

 

 

Vision doesn’t return for another two days. In the meantime, the others force Steve away from his floor more often than not. He knows they’re concerned he’ll slip back into his funk, and he finds it all too endearing to tell them he’s perfectly fine. As soon as Vision can tell them where they’re going, he’s going to kick some Hydra ass, and then make Bruce and Tony find a way to wake Bucky up. Steve is but a simple man.

Sam and Steve go on six runs over the course of the two days. Steve agrees, mostly to watch Sam struggle to keep up. Sometimes he likes to run ahead of Sam, turn around so he’s running backwards, and talk to Sam like that. Sam usually goes home when he does this, but since they seem to have agreed to coddle Steve, Sam pretends he doesn’t mind.

All in all, those two days are better than expected.

Vision returns when they’re eating breakfast on Tony’s floor, and he’s not alone.

“My comrades!” Thor bellows happily. He storms forward and grabs the nearest person in a hug. It’s Natasha, who looks all too happy to be lifted off her feet and swung around. Thor makes his rounds, Mjolnir swinging from his wrist.

Steve always finds that he can’t look away from Thor’s hammer. It amazes him that something so primitive holds so much power and status. He supposes his shield is a primitive choice of weapon as well, but Thor’s hammer is _magic_.

God, if he could go back in time, he’d go back to his pre-serum self, and tell him about ghosts, Norse gods with lightning hammers and a millionaire in a flying gun, just to see little Steve Rogers possibly pee his pants.

Thor reaches him then, and before he wraps him into one of the infamous Thor bear hugs, he gives Steve a thorough once over. “You have gone through a lot these past days, my dear friend. I certainly hope you have eaten properly.”

And yeah, it’s a bit hilarious to have a giant man with long flowing hair and a red cape ask if Steve has been eating. “I have, Thor, don’t worry.”

This seems to be enough to appease Thor as he finally wraps his arms around Steve. Steve melts a little.

Thor gives _the best_ hugs.

“Well, I did not just come to Earth to embrace you all. I come bearing information.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on tumblr: bimbobucky


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late and not very good, but, that's how it is.  
> All mistakes are my own, including my research about Sweden. I've done my very best. As a Dane I should've known some of this already, but I didn't, so, oops?  
> Also this chapter is with some very mcu typical violence, so, beware of that if that makes you queasy.

Thor makes sure Steve is sitting down again before beginning:

“From what Vision has told me, it appears your friend is under the influence of the soul stone.”

Thor lets it hang in the air while they wrap their minds around it.

“It sounds like an STD,” Sam pipes up. It’s not that funny, but Clint’s unattractive snort earns a few chuckles.

“I do not know what that is,” Thor says slowly. Ultimately, he must decide it’s not important. One of his heavy hands land on Steve’s shoulder. It’s meant to be reassuring, no doubt, but Steve just finds his stomach wounding tight with nerves. “The soul gem is one of the six infinity stones. It has the ability to give its master power over all souls in the universe. He or she can manipulate, control and alter all souls, whether they are alive or dead. If Hydra had gained full control of the stone, we would already know. They are confused, and your friend’s return is most likely a lucky mistake. We have been searching for it for a long time, but the stones are almost impossible to trace. It will be no easy feat, but worry not friend Steve, we will succeed and I promise you this.”

Steve needs to _breathe_.

Without replying, he leaves the chair and heads for the roof of the Tower. Luckily, none of the others decide to follow him.

For someone who takes great pride in never running from a fight, he sure is good at running from his problems.

 

* * *

 

 

“The roof” isn’t really a roof as much as it is a small terrace on the top floor of the Tower. The top floor is made up entirely out of grand meeting rooms for when Pepper needs to really impress potential customers and partners, but she prefers not to bring business to the ‘Tower of doom and dumb’ as she calls it, so Steve is the only one who ever uses it.

It’s windy this high up, but Steve is comfortable in a white tee and washed-out jeans. His heart is still thumping painfully even though he’s been standing here for well over an hour. He can’t pick a single thought out of the mess in his head, so instead he’s been counting the cars zooming by on the street, with the occasional cloud obscuring his vision.

In the end, the Avengers must worry he’s contemplating breaking one of his bones just to get the painkillers that get him high, because Sam is stepping out onto the terrace before too long.

He’s wrapped up tight in a big coat, a scarf and a hat with a ridiculous little pompom on top of it that _has_ to be Natasha’s, and he’s waddling his way over to Steve like a penguin.

“Hey man,” comes a muffled voice behind the layers of fabric.

“Hello.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m happy he’s alive. Not so happy he’s stuck in an unknown Hydra facility floating somewhere between life and death.”

“And here I thought all those history books exaggerated when they said you were a drama queen.”

Steve kind of feels like flinging himself off the Tower just to get away from Sam’s pitying look. Usually, his friend is so careful not to treat Steve as if he’s some fragile piece of fine China, but Steve supposes the steady decline of his sanity prompts endless worry.

“We need to find him, and soon. Who knows what Hydra will do to him when he wakes up.”

“Thor and Vision are doing their best. All you can do is wait.”

Defeated, exhausted and drained, Steve just says; “okay,” and lets Sam lead him back inside.

 

* * *

 

Steve is mid-nap when Jarvis wakes him up.

“Captain Rogers, I’m very sorry to interrupt your sleep, but Mr. Stark needs you urgently. It’s Avengers related.”

Steve might be heartbroken and impatient, but if there’s one thing that will always be easy and enjoyable, it’s saving lives. The fighting itself has lost its excitement a long time ago, and Steve doesn’t think it’ll ever return. But reuniting a weeping mother and a terrified child will always be worth the cuts and bruises.

He hopes.

He flings the covers off and picks up a pair of sneakers by the door. He lets Jarvis take control of the elevator while he focuses on tying his shoes so he doesn’t think too much about Bucky. But of course does anyway, because who was it that taught him to tie shoes again? Bucky. Right.

He forcibly shakes his head and straightens as Jarvis softly tells him they’re on the right floor. And _fuck_ , even the AI knows Steve is clinging to the last straw of his sanity. Once all of this has blown over, Steve needs to ask Tony what the hell is up with Jarvis, if he’s actually just an AI or if there’s something more there. Howard Stark could build flying cars, why wouldn’t Tony Stark be able to create sentient life out of scraps of metal? They all saw Ultron happen, and sure that was very much a different situation, but still.

”The rest of the team is in the assemble-y room, Captain Rogers.”

Steve lets a little chuckle escape when Jarvis forces the pun past his… throat? How does that work? His metal tube?

He’s still pondering the mystery of Jarvis’ body/not body when he barges into the meeting room. The rest are there already, turned towards the whiteboard at the head of the room, that’s currently showing the layout of a large building.

“So nice of you to join us, Cap,” Tony snarks with a raised eyebrow. Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response as he sits down in the chair Natasha has saved for him. She hands him a Twix-bar in lieu of a greeting, and he tucks into it happily, as Tony starts explaining the mission:

“So, while we’re waiting for Thor to find loverbot, we might as well help our dear Captain out with some therapeutic violence.”

Steve bites off another piece of the Twix bar but otherwise doesn’t react. He can tell it pisses Tony off endlessly, and he almost feels guilty about the tiny curl of pleasure in his stomach.

“Right. So, this should be a run-of-the-mill mission. Some politician up in Sweden got his hands on a Hydra weapon and now he has taken loads of his coworkers hostage. He wants 50 million Swedish... money in ransom and he’s going to start shooting hostages tonight at midnight. The Swedish crown really wants this guy neutralized. It’s looking bad for their rep.”

“Wait, they’ve still got kings and queens ‘n stuff?” Clint asks with a strip of salad hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Natasha flicks it off his face, seemingly without thinking about it. Clint ruffles her hair in thanks, before taking another bite.

Steve’s heart aches. When will he get to bring Bucky home?

“Yeah, and they’re all worryingly good-looking. Anyways, we really want to be on their good side. We’re about to make a deal about some trading terms, I think. Anyways, we gotta save these people, get the weapon, destroy it, and get the criminal out, alive if possible. They want to prosecute this guy properly, make an example of him.”

“Where has he got the hostages?” Sam asks. As the only one, he’s sat up ramrod straight, and he hasn’t even touched the food.

“The Riksdagen in Stockholm.” Tony pulls up the layout of the Riksdagen and starts pointing out entrances and where the hostages are kept. Usually, this is Steve’s job. Usually, this is a very important job to Steve. But, well, Steve isn’t exactly in the right headspace to introduce any kind of mission, or interact with the Swedish royal family.  

“So the hostages are in the First Chamber, which is here,” Tony points to the big chamber on the right. The Riksdagen consists of two, large chambers, with a clutter of meeting rooms and offices scattered around them. “There’s a back entrance right here, it’ll take us to a corridor with offices. Cap, now I need your leadership. We can enter in one of two ways. We can either barge in the door of the chamber and hope he doesn’t kill anyone before we get him, or we can send Clint and Nat into the vent and hope to take him out like that.”

“Let’s send Clint and Nat in there first. Let them get a scope of the room so we can find out where our guy is and where the hostages are located in there. We’ll regroup when they get back and decide what do to then.” Once he gets a nod of approval from his team, he stands with the crumbled Twix wrapper in his palm. He feels a bit ridiculous, but they all seem to believe in his leadership just as much as before. As long as he uses ‘the voice’ they’re all on board. “Let’s suit up.”

 

* * *

 

 

They’re probably not as nervous as they should be. The Quinjet is buzzing with idle chatter and Steve’s pretty sure Tony and Sam are arm-wrestling in the corner. Steve, Clint and Natasha are memorizing the layout of the vents in the Riksdagen, while Wanda, Vision and Bruce are talking animatedly about the stone. Thor sits silently next to Steve, cleaning Mjolnir gently. He seems content to just listen to Steve arrange Clint and Natasha’s route.

Once they’ve decided on a route and Clint and Natasha start talking about the best vantage points, Steve turns to Thor. “Do you think you can find him?”

“Do not worry. I have my best folk looking for your friend up in Asgard. Now that we have Hydra’s earlier patterns to work with, they should not be long.”

Steve leans back in his seat with a quiet hum. “Thank you.” He can feel Thor’s eyes bore into the side of his head, but it takes him a few moments to work up the courage to turn his head.

“Your friend, he is of utmost importance to you, no?”

“He’s my family,” is the closest thing Steve can get to explaining the whirlwind of emotions that have been living in his stomach ever since Bucky pulled that big bread off him when Steve was only 7. Back then, Bucky was his brother. Today, Steve is almost certain that fate has shone a light upon them, however cliché it may sound. It’s the most hopeful Steve’s ever been about the world, so he’s savoring it before he has to go deal with some crazy, greedy Swede.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting into the Riksdagen should be easy enough. But before they can get that far, they have to convince the Swedish Task Force to let them help. As the leader, that’s Steve’s job.

Marie Jarnérus is a strong woman with a rough accent. Steve straightens immediately when her eyes fall on him, and he greets her with a: “It’s an honor, commander,” while saluting her.

Her eyes soften a bit at the edges as she salutes him back. “The honor is all mine, Captain.” She lets the little smile slip off her face. “Unfortunately, I can’t let you send in your agents just yet.”

“May I ask why?”

“You may. We’re currently negotiating with Mr. Lindstrøm, and until we’re certain he’s not shooting any hostages until midnight, we’re hesitant to risk disturbance.”

“I was under the impression that Mr. Lindstrøm had already presented his terms?” Steve and Tony had practiced the pronunciation for about 15 minutes in the Quinjet. He’s pretty sure he just nailed it.

Jarnérus looks like she’s fighting a smile. So, maybe not. “We thought so too, but unfortunately, our kidnapper is not as dumb as first hoped. About an hour ago he realized that money wouldn’t be enough to keep him out of jail since we know his identity. He’s trying to arrange an escape route.”

“What does he want?”

”Chopper on the roof and an assault rifle.”

Tony whistles behind Steve, impressed. Steve hopes he’s the only one who notices. “Commander, with all due respect, if you want to finish the negotiations before we can go in, that leaves us with a very little window of time.”

“I understand Captain, but that’s my decision. If your team is as great as we’ve heard, I’m sure you can do it.”

Steve watches her walk off with fury rising in his throat. He knows she’s trying to save the hostages, just like he is, but a failed negotiation could end in Lindstrøm slaughtering those poor politicians and civilians before midnight.

“We need to go behind their backs,” Steve tells Tony under his breath.

Tony sighs long-sufferingly and flicks off his faceplate. He waits until it’s off to roll his eyes at Steve. “Remember when I said we needed to play nice? That’s not playing nice.”

“People are going to die, Tony.”

Tony lets one corner of his mouth turn up. “Why are you trying to convince me? I’d do just about anything to piss of Ms. Commanders right-hand-man. He’s a dick.”

 

* * *

 

 

Luckily for them, Jarnérus and her team are too busy to notice them slipping away. It’s quite a feat, with Thor and his cape and Tony in his suit, but they manage. They find a silent corner where they huddle in, too close for comfort, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“We’re going to need a distraction to sneak around to the backdoor,” Steve tells them.

Suddenly, Redwing is an inch away from his face. With a huff of annoyance, Steve flicks it away with his pointy finger, much to Sam’s horror. The robot bounces back quickly, flitting around above their heads.

“Let me make an itty bitty explosion at the corner of the parking lot.” He’s smiling at Steve cheekily as Redwing lands atop Steve’s head. With a sigh, he relents.

“Fine. But don’t hurt anyone, and follow us if you can. We could really use the little guy when we get inside.”

Sam takes off, and Steve thinks he hears him say: “see, they like you,” to the robot. Why do all his teammates have a robotkink?

Steve can pick up the whirr of Redwing gearing up, and then the bang of the explosion. Chaos ensues, and with a crooked finger, Steve guides his team to the back entrance and they slip inside to the lovely symphony of panicked soldiers.

They find the right office within minutes, and Thor drags a desk to the right wall so Clint and Nat can climb into the vents. They bicker over who goes first, but as soon as they’re inside, they’re dead silent. Only a few minutes pass before Clint is tumbling back out of the vent, Natasha landing beside him with a cat-like grace.

“So, status, the vent is directly above the hostages so we can’t go in that way. Our bad guy has set up camp on a large podium at the front of the room, directly in front of the door inside. If we go in, bullets flying, through the main entrance, we can take him down before he kills anyone.” Steve nods his head once in acknowledgement, before informing every one of their formation.

Steve will go first with his shield raised, and the others will fan out behind him. Bruce is still in the Quinjet, and Vision had to go help Sam out of an arrest, meaning he had to vaporize away with Sam.

“Wanda, try and see if you can get the weapon from him right away. We don’t know what it does, and I really don’t want to find out.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

“Let’s get to it then.”

 

* * *

 

 

Wanda doesn’t get the weapon.

Mr. Lindstrøm isn’t alone.

The first bullet hits Steve in the shin. The next grazes his left side. The third one would’ve planted itself in his forehead if he hadn’t gotten his shit together and pulled his shield up.

“Wanda, the hostages need a shield. Nat, get Lindstrøm. The rest, take out the shooters.”

Steve flings his shield and manages to take down two of the shooters. He sees Clint fire an arrow, Thor throw his hammer and Tony fly off, before a sharp pain rips through his abdomen, and the last thing he hears before passing out is Natasha shouting his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at bimbobucky!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, it's late and it's short. It's also unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

He has woken up in a hospital so many times by now that it takes him no more than two seconds to put together that the steady beep by his head is a stubborn heart that should’ve given up so many times. But like Steve, it keeps going. He’s not going to trick himself into thinking it’s brought him back this time for any other reason than to rescue Bucky. It’s the same old song. Back before the serum, Hydra and the war, he’d fought through endless diseases to stay by Bucky’s side.  If he hadn’t had Bucky back then, he would be long gone.

He lays still and tries to figure out if he’s alone. He can’t pick out any breathing between the beeps from the heartbeat monitor, so he slowly peels his eyes open. He prefers waking up alone, because then he doesn’t have to worry about hurrying. He flexes his toes, and then his fingers. Slowly, he wakes up his whole body. With a grunt of pain, he attempts to sit himself up a bit. He has to give up as the bullet wound in his abdomen suddenly wakes up and sends liquid fire through his veins. It’s so bad that he barely notices the intense pain in his shin, where the first bullet had struck.

He flails his arm for the call-button, and he must manage to hit it, because he catches a glimpse of a nurse before he passes out again.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s not alone the next time he wakes up.

Natasha and Sam are having a thumb-war next to the bed, faux inattentive. As soon as his heartbeat quickens slightly, Nat is flying out of her chair. Sam is in the chair closest to the bed, so she simply falls to her knees next to Steve and grabs his hand. She looks frazzled yet calm at the same time, somehow.

“Hey there, big boy.” Her voice is wavering but her gaze is steady as she stares at Steve. His throat tries to work pass the dryness, and he manages to croak ‘hey’ back.

Sam hands him a glass of water silently. Nat helps him down it, and some of his discomfort dissipates. He must be pretty drugged up, as his abdomen is only slightly on fire. A calm sizzle.

Yeah, he’s drugged up alright.

“How long ‘ve I been ‘t?”

“Huh?” Sam pipes in, but Natasha smiles slightly.

”A couple days. Your body has been too busy healing that nasty wound there. Bye bye bikinis,” she teases.

Steve is stupid enough to chuckle. The fire intensifies. It’s a bonfire now. They could roast marshmallows on his stomach, probably.

“What’s he saying about marshmallows?” Sam asks Nat worriedly. When she laughs, the worry-line between Sam’s eyebrows eases. He reaches over and flicks some of Steve’s hair off his forehead so he can look him in the eye. “We’re gonna call for a nurse and give you some more meds. The more you sleep, the faster you heal.”

“No, no,” Steve protests immediately, but a nurse is already walking in. She reminds him a bit of Peggy, and immediately he stands down. He hates that he does. He needs to focus. “Buck,” he forces past his lips.

“Nothing new yet. Now enjoy your guilt free sleep,” Natasha orders.

And well, he can’t exactly argue with that, can he?

 

* * *

 

 

He feels a bit more grounded the next time he wakes up. The pain is more centered to his two biggest wounds now, but it’s more manageable now. He’s going to be feeling the abdomen one for a while, though. It usually takes his body two weeks to fully recover from a wound this serious. The only problem is, he doesn’t have two weeks.

Thor and Vision are occupying the chairs this time. Nat is hovering near the door, all tense muscles and stormy eyes. Thor looks annoyed which is very unusual for Thor. They must’ve been arguing before Steve woke up.

“Hello, Steven, I’m pleased to meet your eyes instead of your eyelids,” Thor greets. He rests a light hand on Steve’s shoulder and gives him a little smile.

“Nice to see you too,” Steve tells all three of them.

“We found him,” Vision blurts. Steve instinctively tries to fly out of the bed, but a sharp pain races up his spine and forces him back down with a yelp.

“Where is he?” Steve wheezes around the agony.

“Liberia,” Natasha grits out. “Tony’s planning a rescue mission as we speak.” Her and Thor have a silent conversation with their eyes. Thor looks back to Steve after a loaded minute.

“Natasha does not mean you are ready to join us,” Thor tells him regrettably. He diverts his eyes immediately, as if it pains him just to tell Steve that the wisest decision would be to stay out of it.

Steve looks to Natasha. She looks defiant, ready for fight if need be.

Steve’s not winning this one.

“Okay.”

Silence.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I won’t come.”

”You’re not even going to argue?”

“Will I win?”

“No.”

”Then no.”

Natasha stares him down, like he’s pulling her leg.

“This is not how I expected this conversation to go,” she admits honestly. Steve’s heart still sings happily every time Natasha shares this kind of thing with him. It took her so long to realize that he wanted to know what she was thinking, that it didn’t make her weak to share her feelings. It’s still a work in progress, but Steve is still infinitely proud of her.

Which just makes him feel guiltier about what he’s going to do.

“I’m not exactly combat-ready, am I? I can’t even sit up. I’ll just be a liability. I’m not risking anything. This op is too important.”

It seems to satisfy Natasha.

Good.

They leave him alone after that. Tony comes in later to fill him in on the plan, even going as far as to tell him when they’re leaving and in which plane. They really want him to feel like he’s there, even if they think he isn’t going to be.

Captain America might not be able to lie, but Steve Rogers can always lie when it comes to Bucky Barnes.

 

* * *

 

 

Sneaking into The Quinjet is harder than Steve expected. It might have been a bit easier if he wasn’t clutching his abdomen and lumping around with his left leg awkwardly behind him. He’s in so much pain, but he barely notices through the elation coursing through his veins. He’s getting Bucky back even if it kills him.

He knows which crates are for gear and which are for supplies. Since Pepper is a worrywart, she always makes them pack much more food and water than needed, so Steve empties one of these crates and manages to fold himself inside. He lets the lid be slightly askew and prays no one notices.

He’s uncomfortable as all hell, and his wounds are screaming at him to get back up, but he’s faced far worse for Bucky. He pops a dozen painkillers, which takes the edge off the pain, just enough so he won’t start screaming when they take off.

Getting loaded onto the plane is the worst part, he finds. Whoever is loading the plane does notice the lid isn’t on properly, so Steve has a few agonizing minutes with limited oxygen before he can pop it back off.

The trip itself flies by, fast. His shield keeps poking into his rib, and his abdomen and shin is screaming, but his mind is reeling. What is he going to say to Bucky? Will they even be able to wake him up? Will he even _be there?_

Steve guesses they’re about ten minutes out when Natasha finds him. He doesn’t know how, but it doesn’t surprise him. Natasha always just _knows_.

With a heavy sigh, she helps him get out of the crate and stretch his limbs. She shoulders his shield and forces one of his arms around her so she can support him while she takes him back up to the rest of the team.

Steve thinks it says a lot about his character that none of them seem that surprised to see him.  

Natasha dumps him into a seat next to Sam, less gentle than normally. Sam is giving him the stink eye, but it softens when Steve flashes him the “golden-boy” smile. “We’re talking about this when we get back,” Sam mutters.

Clint snorts on the other end of the aisle. “You going to take down a Hydra base in your jeans and cardigan?”

Steve looks him straight in the eye. “Yes.”

“Fair enough.”

“So,” Tony interrupts. He pushes a few buttons, and a voice calls out ‘autopilot enabled. Estimated time of arrival: fifteen minutes.’ “Here’s what’s going on. Heimdal, some Asgardian scientists, Bruce and I managed to pick up a very weak signal that could very well be the soul stone.”

“It is hidden deep within the Liberian landscaping, beneath a beautiful building” Thor butts in.

“Yeah, so we couldn’t narrow it down more than to this farm, so the entrance to the base is somewhere here. The barn is abandoned, so if you see anyone, they’re probably Hydra.” Tony claps his hands loudly. “Let’s go find an old man.”

“ _Tony_.”

“Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite his injuries, Steve is the first one out of The Quinjet. Sam is following right behind him, arms hovering near the small of Steve’s back as if Steve is going to fall any moment now.

Which he just might. His shin is really smarting.

Bruce and Wanda are back at The Tower trying to work out a way to wake Bucky up, Tony starts delegating areas. Steve barely listens, is already heading for the barn off to the back off the grounds. He hears Tony’s frustrated groan but he doesn’t bother with a response, simply hobbling along. Clint is ducking under his arm within seconds, so Steve can lean his weight on him.

They make their way to the barn as quickly as possible while the rest scatter. Steve knows Hydra and how they operate. Despite this, he almost misses the latch hidden beneath a few bales of hay.

“Everybody, get to the barn,” Clint orders, while Steve is too busy moving hay. He barely registers the pain from his wounds until he’s done and gets to take a step back. Then he needs to sit down and breathe though wave after wave of nausea. Clint is kind enough to leave him be, but when the others draw close Clint taps his shoulder so he can get his shit together before the rest of the team walk in.

They don’t speak as Thor grabs the handle of the hatch. There must either be another way in, or Hydra has officially given up on Bucky, because the hatch doesn’t give up easy. But then, neither does Thor.

He forces it open with a grunt. It’s dark inside, so Tony turns on the lights at the side of his faceplate. It’s difficult to see anything, so Vision volunteers to go down first.

He lands quickly enough, so it can’t be too far down. At least that’s what Steve tells himself as he jumps after Vision.

“Steve you moron!” Sam yells.

“I’m fine!” Steve calls back. He has to jump back as an unimpressed Sam follows him and Vision into the darkness.

Soon enough, Tony is down and able to shine a light. They’re standing in a dusty hallway, that clearly hasn’t been used in a while. At least that’s what Steve thinks at first, but he notices a single set of footprints in the dirt covering the floor.

“Watch out guys, we might not be alone.”

Steve’s leg and stomach give up halfway down the hallway. He’d be embarrassed about Thor carrying him bridal style if he could say that this is the first time….but it’s not.

“You two are way too comfortable with this,” Clint prods, flicking at Steve’s hand cupped around Thor’s neck to stay balanced.

Thor manages a shrug. Steve has to hide his face in Thor’s throat so no one sees his eyes well up with tears from the pain.

Fuck no has he gotten this close to Bucky only to give up.

Steve hadn’t even noticed that Vision had flown ahead until he’s coming back down the hallway. “I think I may have found the holding room of the Sergeant. I haven’t entered yet. I believe you should have the honor, Captain.”

Steve manages a wobbly smile. Once they get back and he has some pain meds in him, he’ll buy Vision a new cape or something. For now, he tugs on Thor’s hair to get him to move again.

Sure enough, a bit further down the hall is a solid metal door. It looks a lot like how Steve remembers the inside from his dream, but he needs to be sure.

“Nat, will you kick it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Kick the door.”

“Why?”

“I did it once, when I was under with Wanda. It made a very distinctive sound. Kick it. Trust me.”

Natasha seems to have about a million arguments against his logic ready on the tip of her tongue, but instead she just shakes her head and mumbles something under her breath in Russian before giving the door a healthy kick.

“That’s the one,” Steve breathes. He taps Thor’s shoulder so Thor gently puts him back on his own feet. He’s wobbly, drained and exhausted, but his veins are on fire with excitement, happiness and nerves.

As he turns the valve on the door, his thoughts suddenly bombard him, one replacing the other too quickly for him to grab onto something.

_Bucky is alive, Bucky is okay, Bucky isn’t in a casket, Bucky isn’t a skeleton, Bucky isn’t…._

Bucky isn’t there.

Steve flies inside the door and checks every nook and cranny, the others scrambling after him with worried shouts, but he comes up empty.

Bucky isn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a cliffhanger, eh? I'm on tumblr at: bimbobucky


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given up all resemblance of a regular upload schedule with this fic. Hang in there, I guess?  
> Also I was so eager to get this up that I haven't checked it for errors, so, sorry about that.

“No no _no no NO NO_ ,” Steve chants as he flips over the slab where Bucky had been resting in the dreams. He searches the desks just like before, but still, _nothing_.

With a roar, he throws one of the desks to the other side of the room, where it crashes against the wall and splinters into a thousand pieces. He falls to his knees with a heaving gasp, tears burning hot in his eyes and pain wrapping around all of his limbs.

The gunshot in his abdomen is nothing compared to the sorrow his heart is pumping out to every little vein in his body. He can hear murmurs around him, feels two sets of arms gripping each of his biceps and dragging him up from the floor. He doesn’t have the power to stand on his own, doesn’t even try as he feels himself slip further and further into the darkness threatening to swallow him whole.

Somehow, Sam’s voice breaks through the whooshing in his ears; “Steve, we have to go.”

“He has to be here,” Steve insists as he pulls away from Sam and Thor. He stumbles forward, falling to his knees again. He doesn’t stop this time, starts crawling forward instead until he can get a hand around the doorframe and pull himself into the hallway. He hears a put-upon sigh behind him and then Tony is strolling after him, faceplate lifted up and metal fists resting sassily on a cocked hip.

“Listen, Sundae, I know you’re hurting but this doesn’t seem very wise.”

“I’m not leaving without him,” Steve grunts as he uses the wall to push himself back up. He forces his feet further down the hall, shoulder dragging along the cold stonewall. Tony wraps his fingers around Steve’s bicep, and with embarrassingly little effort, he makes Steve stop in his tracks.

“I’m getting Thor to carry you back to the Quinjet. The rest of us will search this place, top to bottom. If he’s here, we’ll find him.”

Steve wants to argue. He wants to scream and cry and kick and punch. But he can’t, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to pass out within the next five minutes, so instead he says: “Okay.” He feels like the biggest fuckup. Bucky always helped Steve out no matter what, and Steve can’t even _find_ him.

He must zone out for a few minutes, because next thing he knows, Thor is easing him down on some of the seats in the Quinjet.

He passes out for good after five seconds.

 

* * *

 

 

“I ain’t telling him!”

“It should be Tony.”

“Why me?!”

“Why not?”

“Sam, you’re his best friend.”

“No, his best friend is currently MIA.”

“You didn’t find him,” Steve interrupts coolly. It’s not a question, and no one offers up an answer. Steve clings onto a small shred of hope until he opens his eyes.

Bucky still isn’t there.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“C’mon man, we don’t know that,” says Sam.

Steve laughs, but it’s a cutting sound, and Sam visibly winces. “They’ve either finally given up and just killed him, or they managed to wake him up and now they’re torturing him in some other base we don’t know about.”

No one says anything. What _can_ they say? Steve lets his head fall back onto the seat. He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t start bawling again. At this point he’s not even trying to save whatever image his team had of him prior to this, it’s too late.

As if Natasha can sense what he’s thinking, she crouches down next to his head and rests her hand atop his clenched fist. “No one is judging you, Steve, we just want to help.”

He tries to smile for her. He appreciates it, he does, but how can they help at this point?

“We need to check you into the hospital when we get back. You made some serious damage there,” Sam tells him. At Steve’s stink eye, he continues: “what good are you dead?”

“Sam, no. Who knows what they’re doing to him?” He lets the _if he’s alive_ go unspoken, but everyone seems to be thinking it.

“We will keep looking for him, Steven, do not worry. The stone was not in the base anymore, and there has clearly been some sort of scuffle. Something happened and they had to move bases. Do not give up hope,” Thor tells him, voice gentle in a way it so rarely is. Steve feels like crying again. His friends are so devoted to finding a guy that none of them knows, just because it’s important to Steve. They’ve dropped everything to be here with him, and now it’s just a dead end.

Steve takes a shuddering breath. The pain flares up again. He’s almost glad to have something else to focus on, but if Thor finds Bucky he needs to be ready. “Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sam doesn’t even let him head back up to his apartment before he shoves him - gently - into one of Tony’s cars and taking off towards the hospital.

Steve’s breathing is labored, and there’s a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He’s barely conscious when they get to the hospital, so he doesn’t even notice Sam’s phone ringing insistently. A sweet-looking nurse leads them inside and gets Steve situated on a bed, and the last thing he notices before passing out is Sam’s worried face while he hisses at whoever is on the phone.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t expect the face he wakes up to.

“ _Bucky!_ ”

Bucky’s grin lights up his whole face. He looks exhausted and worried, but also like he can’t quite believe his luck.

“Hey there, Stevie.” Steve tries to sit up, tries to get to Bucky, tries to fling his arms around his long lost friend, but his wounds scream in protest and he has to sag back against the bed. “Idiot. Here, let me help.”

Somehow, Bucky gets him sitting up. Steve is barely paying attention, is too busy memorizing every little change in Bucky’s face, every little detail he took for granted before the fall. Bucky’s still adjusting the pillows when Steve reaches out and cups Bucky’s cheek. Bucky deflates immediately, shoulders sagging as he leans into Steve. “I thought your new body would at least keep you out of the hospital,” Bucky mumbles.

Steve snickers. “Well, you always came running when I was sick. I was desperate.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and then suddenly, they harden. “So.”

“So?” Steve asks warily.

“How are you here?”

“You see Buck, being shot is generally-“

“No, no,” Bucky interrupts, shaking his head so his long hair flies everywhere. It startles Bucky, and he has to spit it out when it gets in his mouth, and Steve laughs so hard his stomach starts complaining again. “Asshole. I meant, how are you in the 21st century?”

Fuck. Steve hoped they could have this conversation later, but might as well make Bucky angry right off the bat. “Uh, I nosedived a plane into the ocean and froze? Kinda like an icicle? Then they found the plane and unfroze me, and tada, I guess?” Bucky’s face gets more and more pinched the longer Steve drones on, and Steve shrinks a bit, as if he was 10 years old again and had his nose broken from a fight (again).

“Steve, how can you even think that’s a good idea…” and Steve isn’t proud to admit that he kinda zones out, lets Bucky ramble on about Steve’s irresponsibility. Steve lets his head loll to the side so he can stare openly at Bucky. It hits him, then, like a ton of bricks placed upon his chest, that Bucky is alive and well, is breathing right in front of Steve. He isn’t in a coffin, he’s _right here_.

And Steve loves him so much.

“I love you,” Steve blurts suddenly, successfully cutting Bucky off. Bucky stares, eyebrows crinkling together.

“Wha-“

“I’m in love with you. Always have been. I didn’t tell you before, but there’s no way I’m waiting any longer. I’m tired of missing opportunities because I’m scared. You deserve to hear it, each day every day.”

Steve doesn’t care what Bucky says. He’ll be happy if Bucky feels the same, of course, but it’s not important. The important thing is that Bucky realizes just how special he is, and how guilty Steve feels for not being able to save him.

“Fuck, but I’m in love with you too,” Bucky chokes out.

Steve grins and reaches for Bucky again. He curls his fingers around Bucky’s neck and drags him forward, into a slow kiss. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed - Bucky taught him how to kiss when they were kids - but it’s the first time they’re doing it without making excuses, without guilt, regrets and repressed feelings and it’s probably the best kiss Steve has ever had.

Bucky pulls back before long, gently swiping his thumb down Steve’s cheekbone. “I knew you’d find me.”

Steve crumbles, heart feeling heavy all of a sudden. ”But I didn’t. You were gone.”

Bucky’s smile has a tinge of sadness as he begins explaining; “I’d been dormant for so long. I’d forgotten how to fight back. When I started appearing in the Tower…” he takes a deep breath. “Hydra got so close to wakin’ me. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. And then I overheard them talking, that Captain America was destroying all their bases. And I thought, ‘there’s no way that’s my Stevie’ but I had to be sure. I’m not even sure how I found you. Suddenly I was just in your room. An’ you were _right there_ and I couldn’t do anything. I talked, but you didn’t hear me. I touched you but you didn’t notice. I had to get energy from something, remember when the camera died?” Steve nods, “Yeah, my fault. I saw it made you upset, so I tried to draw from other stuff, but I couldn’t figure out how. Stark’s technology was too fancy for me. So I started drawing from you, but I felt really terrible, didn’t wanna tire you out too much, eh? So sometimes I had to just, go back to my body.” Bucky leans forward to kiss Steve’s forehead, as if to remind himself that he can touch and feel, now. “Oh, and sorry I made all your friends think you were crazy. Ain’t my plan, so, oops.”

Steve chuckles as he lets his fingertips fiddle with a strand of Bucky’s hair. “The hair suits you. Stubble, too.”

Bucky’s smile is genuine this time, happiness making his eyes twinkle. “Yeah, coma don’t make everythin’ stop growing. I’m just lucky they remembered to cut my nails, imagine that.”

It takes Steve too long to notice how tense Bucky’s shoulders are. “Buck, what’s wrong?”

Bucky’s gaze is shifting all around the room, but it flicks back to Steve at the sound of his voice. “Ain’t nothing wrong. Just, I mean, I saw all the new 21st century stuff when I was floating around like a ghost or whatever, but it’s weird to actually be around it.”

Steve feels for him. He remembers coming to the future, how deeply confused he was the first few months. Hell, the first year, even. But Bucky isn’t alone. Steve knows how to explain. ”Don’t worry Buck, it’s not as bad as it seems.”

Steve runs a hand up Bucky’s flesh arm and squeezes his shoulder, rubbing his thumb there until Bucky relaxes under his ministrations. “How did you get away from them?”

“Right, well, when you visited me, in your dreams? It woke something in me, and I knew I could wake up when I wanted to. But I needed them to leave, and I needed a quick escape. So I waited, and finally I found a way out. The door you couldn’t go through, right?” Steve nods. “Yeah, turns out there’s a panel hidden behind the computers, and I saw them punch in the code. Then there was some emergency, and they all had to leave, but they figured since I was still comatose it wouldn’t be a problem to leave me alone for a few hours. But I’m thinking they might know I’m gone, now, so they’ll be coming for me.”

“Let them. We’ll fight them off.”

“Steve, your friends have already helped us so much, I can’t ask this of them.”

“Buck, you said it yourself, we’ve been fighting Hydra for the past years. Them coming to us by their own will? Makes our jobs a hell of a lot easier.”

Bucky chuckles, but doesn’t answer, so Steve thinks he’s staying, at least for now. “You said, back in the dream, that you had a theory why they chose you?”

Bucky clears his throat, and when he starts fidgeting, Steve grabs his hands. “You remember Austria?”

Steve shivers. God, Bucky has been through hell in his very short life. He can’t even imagine what Hydra would make of him, if they get their hands on him now. “I’ll never forget. I thought that was the worst pain I’d ever feel.” The ‘ _It wasn’t_ ’ goes unsaid, but a little crease of worry forms between Bucky’s eyebrows, so Steve knows he can fill in the blanks himself just fine.

“I never told you this, because I knew you’d worry, and I didn’t think it made a difference anyway,” he looks away, takes a deep breath, shakes himself and then turns back to Steve, “they were trying to recreate the serum you got. I was the first who took to it, at least somewhat. At least, that’s what it was at first. Then they finally realized the gem was way more powerful than whatever serum they could mix together, so I was their guniea pig. Ain’t like anyone is gonna miss a dead man.”

“ _I_ missed you,” Steve admits in a thin voice. _Bucky_.

Bucky’s answering smile is a mix between sad and elated. His eyes are swimming with so many emotions Steve doesn’t even know where to start to read them. “Yeah, but you thought I was dead. You wouldn’t suspect they were testin’ on me, cause how would you know?”

“How did you find me now?”

“I think my mind changed, from the soul travelling or whatever the hell it was. I can feel you, in a weird way. I went to the Tower first. I didn’t want to come here if you weren’t ready for a visitor. But I think your friend - Sam, right?” Steve nods. “Right, Stark called him up when his computer noticed I’d broken into your apartment. Apparently, they figured telling you I was here would have to be top priority, or you’d take off before you were fully healed.” Bucky gives him a look as if he had the same theory, and Steve is just so _happy_. So fucking overjoyed he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.

He has more questions, a ton of them, but right now, he drags Bucky down for a searing kiss. “We’ll find them, and we’ll steal the stone. It can’t belong to them, who knows what they’ll do?”

Bucky make a noise of agreement before apparently throwing all care out the window and kissing Steve once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end guys! Hang in there   
> Edit: Yeah this is the end. Sorry if any of y'all were waiting.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at bimbobucky

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as: 'bimbobucky'  
> Come say hi!


End file.
